


Your Humble S.

by tenderly_wicked



Series: Dark!John [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Cock & Ball Torture, Discipline, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Humiliation, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Slash, Smut, Vibrator, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderly_wicked/pseuds/tenderly_wicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/13188.html?thread=74631300#t74631300">this prompt</a>. It was predictable that Sherlock would forget they had a kind of anniversary. But it’s alright. Dark!John has got a present for himself, as well as for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Humble S.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta selana1505.

“I’ve got a present for you,” John says as he enters the living-room with a package in his hands.

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow in response: “Nice of you. What’s that for?” He’s lazily sprawled on the sofa, clad in his silk dressing gown, and John wonders if he’s got pants under it. Probably not.

For a few moments, John struggles with the temptation to flip Sherlock over, pin him down to the sofa, lift this damn dressing gown up, and fuck him rough and hard, enjoying his breathy cries. Sherlock’s low voice breaks so beautifully when he’s being taken unprepared… Sherlock must be well aware he’s provoking John to be that harsh, lying there and teasing him with this barely hidden nudity. Maybe he’s even anticipating brutal, animalistic sex – a welcome change after a boring ordinary day. He’ll be squirming and fighting back, and John will be twisting his hands, jackhammering away at his arse until Sherlock finally goes still and lax under him, sobbing weakly into the cushions with each thrust all the way into his sore battered hole.

John sighs, filing the thought of a quick shag away for later, appealing as it may be. A more refined pastime awaits them.

He puts the package onto the desk. Sherlock is eying it with indiscreet curiosity, surely trying to deduce what it might be. John would bet he’d never guess. Sherlock is not that spoilt yet.

“How do you mean – what’s that for?” he mirrors Sherlock’s question, pretending to be deeply wounded. “Don’t you remember what day it is?!”

Sherlock frowns.

“You don’t,” John surmises. “I should have known. We have an anniversary, of a sort, if that means something to you.”

Sherlock looks at him, uncomprehending. “But it’s not the day we’ve met.” Then his eyes widen. “Oh. You mean…”

“Exactly.” A year since their first intercourse. “I know you’re not sentimental, Sherlock, but people usually remember things like that.” Especially if one’s been sodomized so thoroughly (and not just once) that his sensitive virgin arse has been aching for days after that, a constant reminder of the newly discovered sexual pleasures.

Sherlock stands up from the sofa, with a pained look. “John, don’t be so upset. I’ll get a present for you too…”

John shakes his head. “No, that won’t do. Too late. To be honest, I had apprehension that you probably wouldn’t keep an important date like this in mind. That’s why I’ve bought a present for myself too, as a kind of consolation. Actually, this one,” he points at the package, “is for me. Or, more precisely, for my entertainment. As for yours, I guess you should show me that you deserve it after all. I can help you with that if we open my present right now and put it to use. Shall we?”

He unwraps the bundle and shows its contents to Sherlock. “Can you deduce how it works?”

Sherlock looks intrigued. He’s really never seen pictures of it on the Internet. “Hm. A solid board, finished wood, around 18 inches long, with a small hole in it. Has a split down the middle so that it breaks apart into two bars. There’s hardware to clamp them together, a keyed lock for security. Looks like stocks. The curvature is probably meant to follow the contour of your thighs, the hole is relatively small… so… it’s for your balls, then?”

“A good deduction,” John nods, gently circling a finger around the oval hole in the device, “except that it’s actually for _your_ balls. Strip and get on your hands and knees. Let’s look if it fits.”

To Sherlock’s credit, he doesn’t hesitate, ready to pay for his forgetfulness.

“Do you know how it’s called? A humbler. Because it makes men like you humble and compliant. Spread your legs wider.”

John seizes Sherlock’s balls from behind, gently fondles them in his palm, savoring the moment. Then pulls the entire sac sharply back between Sherlock’s legs, lays it in the opening in the bottom part of the humbler and closes the top across the base of the scrotum. The lock clicks. Now the two halves of the board are shut together, with Sherlock’s balls trapped and exposed, and the bar is resting under his buttocks.

John looks down at his work with a twisted smile. Perfect.

“So far, there’s little pain involved,” he says, “but only as long as you keep your legs folded forward. Any attempt to straighten them even slightly – and this nasty device pulls directly on the scrotum. C’mon, try it. Be careful, though. Might be dangerous. We don’t want you emasculated, right?”

Sherlock tries to stand up too quickly, having ignored the warning, and his scrotum is cruelly yanked by the unyielding humbler. The pain must be explosive. With a short yelp, Sherlock rolls over on his side, knees pulled up to his chest.

“I’ve told you,” John reminds him. “With this thing attached, your movements will be restricted. You should stay on all fours and crawl across the flat like this until I choose to unlock you. And it might take some time. I haven’t decided yet how you should make up for your inattentiveness. I guess I better make myself tea while thinking it over. So many options…”

He goes to the kitchen, with the key in his pocket, and it doesn’t take long for Sherlock to follow. Sherlock gingerly slinks across the living-room, still on his hands and knees, and it’s pleasant to watch him as he’s tentatively testing the current limits of his movements. Even in this humiliating position, Sherlock looks amazingly graceful. He also looks turned on. Of course, this device was meant mainly for John’s entertainment, but it wasn’t too hard to predict that Sherlock would appreciate it too. Not the pain perhaps but the element of risk. The apprehension that John might leave him like this for an unknown period of time.

While the water is being boiled, Sherlock rubs his cheek against John’s thigh like a big cat – but John doesn’t pay much attention to him, looking for something in the cupboard. Ah, here is the required item. (John won’t show it yet, that’s another surprise for Sherlock.)

Having poured himself a cup of tea, John sits down to the kitchen table. Sherlock, after short hesitation, crawls under it – and a few moments later, his face is pressed to John’s crotch. Oh, that’s how you’re going to earn forgiveness, John smiles to himself. He doesn’t encourage Sherlock – but doesn’t stop him either. Sherlock hastily works on the button and zipper of his jeans, and John even lifts his hips allowing Sherlock to tug his jeans down, along with the boxers. Why not help if Sherlock is so desperate for a cock in his mouth?

Soon John is clutching at the table with one hand and tugging at Sherlock’s curls with the other. Sherlock is a bit awkward because he’s too cautious not to knock his head against the table and not to rock back and forth too vigorously while sucking on the jutting shaft – every careless movement must be painful for his balls trapped in the humbler. But nevertheless, he does his best working with his mouth and tongue. All these manipulations finally bring forth a thick, copious spray of cum, and Sherlock somehow manages to swallow it all.

“That was nice,” John admits, after having regained his composure and put his boxers and jeans on. “But do you honestly hope to get away so easily? Actually, I was thinking I’d rather like to have you in the arse while you were still in restraints. But now we have to wait till I’m in the mood again. Now, back to the living-room.”

His tea is still more or less hot, John finishes it quickly with few gulps and grabs a fly swatter from one of the kitchen drawers – the thing he’s been looking for before the blowjob. Mrs Hudson wanted to throw this swatter away some time ago, but he said Sherlock needed it for an experiment. Of course, John preferred not to explain that it would be an experiment on Sherlock’s balls. Now he’s giving them rapid light swats, driving Sherlock to the living-room just like a shepherd. “Faster, faster, move!”

Sherlock’s testicles, exposed through the hole in the humbler, are an excellent target. “Up on the coffee table on all fours,” John orders. He doesn’t stop slapping the tender organ, slightly but still very perceptibly. When he lays the fly swatter aside at last and taps on Sherlock’s balls with his fingers, Sherlock’s thighs are visibly quivering, though he doesn’t let out a sound.

“Oh, I’ll make you remember this day,” John murmurs. “I’ll give you so much to remember.”

He slowly walks around the coffee table. Sherlock looks like an object of art on display.

This position gives John access to all parts of Sherlock’s anatomy. His balls have taken enough abuse for now. But his hole has been neglected so far, as well as his penis – it’s hanging pointlessly between his legs. No, surely it’s not fair.

“I don’t want you to get bored while waiting for my cock. Stay like that. I’ll be back in a minute,” John says. 

He returns with a vibrator, Sherlock’s favourite one, and a bottle of lube. Sherlock probably saw that coming, for he’d bent further, presenting his backside for any torment John would see fit.

Sherlock’s breath catches as John spreads his butt cheeks and starts working a globe of lubricant into his pucker, with habitual efficiency. “We’ll keep you nicely loosened till I’m ready to take you,” he mutters.

When the vibrator, secured by straps, begins thumping, Sherlock involuntarily jerks his hips – and immediately gives out a growl of pain. “You should know by now, with a cuff clamped on your balls, it’s better not to writhe much,” John gently runs his fingers down Sherlock's tensed thighs. “Try to stay calm and not to move around at all. Moreover, keep your hands on the table, don’t touch your cock. I know you can come from anal stimulation alone, but I highly recommend that you wouldn’t. The humbler won’t prevent your orgasm, but it’s going to be really torturous. You’d want to hump your hips, just like you did right now, and that would squeeze your testicles to their limit. So please enjoy yourself – but don’t ejaculate. I’ll write your new case down to my blog, and after I’m finished with work, I’ll take care of your arse properly.”

For more than twenty minutes, John pretends to be writing, though in fact he’s typing absolute rubbish. It’s hard to concentrate. Sherlock really could be a popular installation in any gallery of contemporary art, it’s thrilling to watch him. His face is a picture of distress, most peculiar expressions cross it as his poor arse is being stimulated over and over and over again. Sherlock’s erect cock probably should have a “please touch” inscription on it, then, and his balls – a “please kick” one, so that the installation would be interactive.

For a long time John struggled with fantasies like this, they made him feel uneasy. His whole life he tried to be nice and ordinary, an average kind of man (heterosexual, a great boyfriend, reliable and considerate, though not a very fascinating person), and mostly succeeded. But there always had been something dark and insatiable beneath this humble disguise. Well… he’d had some strange sexual adventures. He also had bad days when it was hard not to give in to something wicked concealed deep within him. But he never let this scary self loose completely because he knew that maybe he wouldn’t be able to hide it back.

With Sherlock, it was an obsession he couldn’t control, which was maddening. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock. His mouth. His arse. His skin, so easily marked. That was all John could think about.

He tried to divert, return to being nice and ordinary. After he’d already deflowered Sherlock, he’d had dates with women from time to time, very attractive ones, though insufferably boring. (John never said he wouldn’t shag anyone else, Sherlock wasn’t his official boyfriend after all.) Sherlock knew, of course, but said nothing… With the exception of a few short and casual snide remarks that ruined each one of the surrogate relationships. Sherlock always paid for that afterwards, very eagerly, and everything went back to abnormal.

Sometimes John felt bad about his dating. Worse than about all the cruel perverse things he’d been doing to Sherlock. It was very much like cheating, though they never promised anything to each other. John wondered if Sherlock also had affairs on the side, so to say, during this year. Sex with someone else. Um… he had sex with John’s rugby mates when John decided to share him around once, but that was mainly for discipline reasons, and John said to himself that it would never happen again. He wanted Sherlock for himself, solely.

He asked Mrs Hudson, very carefully, if she knew something about… ahem… Sherlock’s private life. If he had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship. But she didn’t know. How would she? John wasn’t sure if she understood what was going on between Sherlock and him. He didn’t ask about that.

Watching Sherlock, helpless in his current predicament, worked up but still not begging for mercy, John feels something more than just arousal.

When Sherlock makes another low whining sound in his throat, unable to hold himself together anymore, John sighs as if in irritation and shuts the laptop down, “Alright. Enough. Get down on the carpet. I can’t work anyway, you distract me all the time.”

The vibrator is dragged out – and the loosened passage is ready for the next intrusion. Sherlock gives muffled grunts as John works his cock into the tender opening. John holds Sherlock’s hips so that hard thrusts won’t drive him forward, pulling his balls backwards. But Sherlock is arching and moaning under him, clutching at the carpet. It’s not that easy to keep him in place. John feels Sherlock’s bulbing sac pulsating. And of course, despite John’s warning, Sherlock comes. The uncontrollable jerks cause him to stretch his testicles tighter, pain must be blazing through his groin, but it seems that he doesn’t care anymore, caught in a frenzy of mixed pleasure and agony. He cries out when John shoots his load too after a few more hasty shoves.

After that, there’s silence for a while. John unlocks the humbler, eases Sherlock on the carpet, inspects his genitals. No injuries, lucky for him. Sherlock shudders wildly, he can’t stop, and John lies down beside him, rocking his body slightly in an awkward hug. “Hush, now. I’ve got you.”

They stay like that until Sherlock warns him, “There will be stains on the carpet.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean everything up.” John plants a ticklish kiss at the base of his neck, and rubs his back soothingly. There will be stains on John’s shirt too – he hasn’t taken it off before clinging on to Sherlock, who’s naked and slick with semen. What a funny picture they must make.

“It’s alright,” he whispers. “Don’t you want to know what present I’ve got for _you_?”

He’d been thinking for a long time what he could possibly give Sherlock as a sort of compensation for locking him up in a humbler. At last, he gave up – his fantasy couldn’t produce an equal reward. And he decided that Sherlock would probably be more devious…

“It’s anything you like,” he says. “Anything you want me to do. Or anything you’d like to do to me. I won’t say no to you, whatever you suggest.”

There’s a pause – and John waits for Sherlock to say something. He’s ready, at least he hopes so. He knows it may be painful. It may take time. Ages. There are a lot of toys in John’s room. A riding crop in Sherlock’s. Knives in the kitchen.

What he doesn’t expect is that Sherlock will say, “It’s not really necessary.”

John breaks the hug to look at him, but Sherlock avoids his gaze.

“Sherlock, you’ve got something on your mind, haven’t you? You can tell me. Any fantasy you have.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “It’s foolish. And it will be even more stupid if you decline.”

John assures him that he won’t. Sherlock lingers for a moment… and blurts out, “Could you… say you love me?”

A very humble wish. John snorts, “Why, of course I could.” But then, seeing Sherlock’s face, he adds quietly, his heart suddenly clenching. “Sherlock, I do love you, I think I do.”

“Good,” Sherlock sighs, contentedly, and that’s the only comment John gets. He guides Sherlock to the bathroom, makes a nice warm bath for him, very relaxing, and then takes him to bed.

It’s only much later in the evening, when they are lying side by side under the duvet, that John dares to ask, “Sherlock… Won’t you say the same in return? That you love me too? I mean… you don’t have to but…”

“You’ve already had your present,” Sherlock murmurs sleepily into his shoulder. “Aren’t you happy with it?”

He _was_ happy. He thought he was. Now he’s not quite sure.

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://tenderlywicked.tumblr.com).
> 
> My M/M novel [on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Tenderly-Wicked-Katerina-Ross-ebook/dp/B01LYGUJ02/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1473767605&sr=1-1#nav-subnav).
> 
> My paranormal M/M series [The Sons of Gomorrah](http://a.co/0ttTWNF)


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